Til Death Do Us Part
by DarkfireDeidara
Summary: "I'm sorry, but odds are Mihael will live in a hospital…. If he lives at all. If he survives seven to ten days with signs of progress, we'll review the situation. As of now… I'd suggest settling any legal matters and bringing in any family members. Prepare for the worst-case scenario." Rated M to be safe.


**A/N: Okay, well, this is to vent. Why? Because I've got family dying left and right. This is (was) the simplified status of one of my closest family members, so I needed to let all this out.**

**A/N 2: Also, medical information may or may not be correct. This is a conglomerate of what I can remember from classes and what the doctors have explained to us. Corrections are welcome, though flames can fuck off.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Death Note.**

**Warnings: Character death. Language. This is ANGST. Not happy. May induce tears. If this doesn't appeal to you at this time, then please turn back.**

**Suggested Listening: Alone In This Bed by _Framing Hanley_**

Matt guns his engine, weaving in and out of traffic expertly. He's sure he's breaking all the traffic laws that he never abides anyway, but to the extreme. The conversation over his cell phone not ten minutes before keeps circling in his head, a loop that only serves to jolt his imagination to its full macabre potential, going over each and every (hopefully) improbable scenario it can come up with.

"_Mail Jeevas?_" The use of his birth name without an official tone surprised him, so he hesitantly replied in the affirmative. "_I'm an officer with the Los Angeles Police Department._" Suddenly concerned his not-so-legal occupation of a hacker had caught up to him, he prepared to ditch the phone and run, but the next sentence the officer uttered stopped him cold. "_We have a Mihael Keehl…_" They had Mello?! "_There's been an accident, and he has you listed as his emergency contact. Is this so?_" Mello… in an accident? Oh God… A curt positive reply prompted the officer to continue. "_He is being flown in to the nearest hospital. It is requested you be there to authorize any medical procedures._" Some details were exchanged, and as soon as the call was disconnected, Matt was in his car and flying.

"God, Mello… What have you gotten yourself into now?" What kind of accident could the blonde have gotten into and need have a hospital afterwards? Had he been shot…? No, Mello would've won. His skills with a firearm are meticulously honed and deadly acute. It couldn't have been any fight, now that Matt thinks about it. Mello can hold his own, and even if he couldn't he would've yanked off his crucifix to set off Matt's tracker and send out the distress signal. No alarm had been sent out… did he get too cocky? Or maybe he didn't have time…?

Realization dawns on Matt as if he'd been thrown into an ice bath. _That damned motorcycle. _Matt _hates_ that screaming metal deathtrap; he _knew_ Mello would be hurt on it. He was against him ever getting it, but the usually-argumentative blonde had simply given him a look similar to a pout and actually said _please_. Matt had succumbed, and now look where they are. Mello in a hospital, probably pretty badly banged up, and all because Matt had a moment of weakness and allowed Mello to have the damn thing.

"No survivor's guilt, Matt, no '_Oh God it's all my fault_.' He's alive. He's fine. Calm down. Just get to the hospital and see what's going on." Resisting the urge to hit himself for worrying as well as talking to himself (and in third person too) he presses even harder on the accelerator, forcing himself to focus on not killing anyone and getting to the hospital ASAP and in one piece.

-x-

After probably scaring the receptionist with his frantic questions of '_Can you tell me where Mihael Keehl is_?' and '_What room is he in?' _and '_Oh my God, that's in ICU, isn't it?'_ he runs off in the direction the young brunette girl directed him to. Opening the door to room two-forty-six, he freezes in the doorway. Mello is hardly recognizable, so bandaged and pale. He's hooked up to various machines, innumerable wires crisscrossing across his torso and along his arms. A heart monitor beeps annoyingly in a corner, breaking the otherwise stillness of the room. Mello's breathing is harsh and uneven; they have him hooked up to an oxygen machine as if it would help. A few gashes run along his arms and one just above his right eyebrow. Casts cradle his right arm and leg, the right side of his chest heavily covered with gauze. He looks…. Horrible. For a moment, Matt feels the need to either curse out God or pray to Him, though both are absurd; there is no God. There hasn't ever been and there never will be. How could such a being, if it even existed, do this to someone like Mello?

A tap on his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns to see a well-dressed man in a stereotypical lab coat, carrying a clipboard and flipping pages. Matt distractedly notices the nametag pinned to his lapel reads Doctor, though he can't be bothered to read the name following the title. "Ah, are you Mail?"

"Matt," he corrects, holding out his gloved hand for the doctor to shake. As they clasp hands, the doctor names himself as Williams. He is a rather large man, at least six foot and a good two-hundred pounds, with graying black hair and compassionate grey eyes partially hidden behind stylish reading glasses. Dressed in plain black slacks and a crisp white button-up dress shirt with a navy blue tie, he looks professional yet personable. Matt immediately takes a liking to him.

"So you're here to oversee Mihael, are you? I'm afraid he's not doing well. Perhaps you should take a seat while I explain what's going on." Matt did as he suggests, mentally chanting _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_. "Well, as the injuries suggest, he was involved in a crash on his motorcycle. He broke both his right arm and leg, and fractured three ribs on his right side. The sheer amount of leather prevented the majority of abrasions he would have sustained. Thanks to his helmet, the worst to happen to his head is a little laceration, so he's fine there as well."

"So he's mostly alright? Just some bumps and bruises?" Matt asks hopefully, allowing his shoulders to relax, his hands to unclench and his heart to slow its painful rhythm.

The doctor pauses, a sympathetic light entering his eyes. "No. I'm sorry, but the damage is much worse than that." Matt's anxiety returns tenfold. Aren't doctors supposed to lie and say they'll be fine? If the doctor says that it's bad, what does that mean? How badly is Mello hurt? "The crash was caused by Mihael having a stroke."

_Stroke_. Matt thinks back to his days in school, in Health class, remembering what he'd thought of as useless at the time. A blockage of blood flow in the brain. As much as he tries, he can't remember anything more than that. He can't recall the important things: survival rates, lasting effects, treatments and cures.

"A stroke is a blood clot in the brain. Depending on the placement of the blockage and the amount of time the brain goes without the oxygen rich blood determines the likelihood of survival and if normal life can resume after recovery." Is this doctor a freaking mind reader?

"And Mello?" Matt gestures to the unconscious body of his best friend, correcting himself when the doctor appears momentarily at a loss. "Sorry, what about Mihael?"

"Mihael is one of the unlucky ones." The chant of _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ restarts in Matt's mind. "Mihael's blood flow stopped in the cerebellum. That's this part of the brain," the doctor explains, flipping a page over his clipboard and showing Matt an image of what he assumes is Mello's brain. The end of the doctor's pen circles around the lower back part, the place where the brainstem connects. "This is responsible for motor functions as well as memory, and a couple other things. The brain stem, right below it, is what controls our organ functions, etcetera. As of now, his condition is this; He's conscious, and on painkillers for his broken bones. He can recognize people, he can understand speech, and can reply with nods or shakes of the head to simple questions, and occasionally a slurred verbal response. He can't speak for the most part, can't breathe very easily, and can't move on his own besides tightening muscles and moving his head. All that boils down to this: His brain is slowly deteriorating due to the lack of oxygen. There isn't much we can really do to fix the clot; it's too close to vital parts of his brain."

"His prognosis?" Matt asks, suddenly feeling very numb. He recognizes he's probably in shock, but Mello comes first. Mello is always first.

"I'm sorry, but odds are he'll live in a hospital…. If he lives at all. If he survives seven to ten days with signs of progress, we'll review the situation. As of now… I'd suggest settling any legal matters and bringing in any family members. Prepare for the worst-case scenario."

_If he lives at all. Seven to ten days. Worst case scenario._ Matt can barely wrap his head around it. _Family_. _Legal matters._ So much to do.

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor." With a nod and a single concerned glance over his shoulder, the doctor takes his leave. Matt slumps down in the uncomfortable chair at Mello's bedside. He angles the chair towards the bed and lays his head down carefully besides the blonde's, wary of all the wires and tubes. Closing his eyes and sighing, he allows himself a quick nap before he begins preparations he never thought he'd have to make.

-x-

Opening his eyes, Matt groans as his back protests sharply. Glancing around uncertainly at his unfamiliar surroundings causes it all to rush back and flood Matt at once. Mello. The accident. Stroke. Seven to ten days.

_Mello is going to die._

It's that thought that breaks him. That causes tears to fall and hyperventilation to begin and hysterics to overwhelm him. Before he can help himself, he's bawling and he can't breathe, and all he can think is _Mello's dying. He's going to die, and I can't help him. I'm going to lose my best friend. Mello's dying. I'm going to lose him. Mello, Mello, Mello, Mello, Mello…_

A very quiet sound catches his attention. Looking up and wiping at his eyes to help with the blurriness, his breath catches as icy blue eyes stare back at him. There's so much in that gaze, Matt notes, so many things that aren't Mello: Fear, uncertainty, and the need for help. The need to know he's not alone, to have answers. Matt can't even begin to fathom what it must be like to be mentally there and have your body betray you, keeping you trapped in your mind.

"Hey, Mells," he says, his voice gravely and scratchy from the tears, "You look like shit." Matt laughs awkwardly before he sobers. "You… you're fucked up, Mello. Real bad."

Mello's eyes seem to say "Yeah, I get that, asshole. What's wrong with me?"

"You crashed your bike. I told you that thing was dangerous," a glare gets him off that rant. "You had a stroke." Mello's eyes widen. "Yeah. Back in the part of your brain that lets you move and talk and shit. Oh, and you might not remember things right." Matt babbles, trying to reiterate what the doctor had told him without using too many big words or something so Mello can understand him. "They… they can't do anything. If you get better, you'll live in the hospital for the rest of your life. If you don't… you die."

Ah hell, are those tears in Mello's eyes? "But, you're Mello, so of course you'll be fine." An ego boost always helps the blonde, right? Supposedly so, because Mello smiles. Well, tries to smile, seeing as one side of his mouth droops a bit lower than the other. It forms this little crooked smile that Matt admits is kind of… adorable? Yeah, that'll work.

"They say it helps if I talk to you. Give you some normalcy. Something to focus on. You don't mind, do you?" Mello rolls his eyes and manages a tiny shake of his head. "It'll be kinda one-sided…" Matt continues on. "Might be kinda boring… and definitely weird… You'll end up listening to me rant about things you don't care about at all, and then you'll get angry but won't be able to hit me, so when you die you'll haunt me for not shutting up, and-" A quick glance at Mello shows a glare, and a look which Matt interprets to mean "Shut up. You're rambling, idiot."

"Right, sorry. So um…" There's an awkward silence, and Matt wishes he knew what to say. How to talk to his dying best friend. He knows if it was him, he'd want to hear all those little annoying secrets he'd never been told, all those life stories he'd always wondered about because Mello kept them quiet. Or maybe he'd want to know if that girl from middle school really did like him, or why his parents had just dumped him on a doorstep to be raised by complete strangers. But Mello wouldn't want to hear any of that. Mello would want… Mello would want to know exactly what to expect. He'd want updates and facts and percentages. Mello would want a puzzle.

"So I did a little bit of research while you were still out of it." Matt says, trying his best to talk like he always does. "And... based on what happened and where and how severe…." He has to take a deep breath before he finishes his sentence. "You're not going to make it."

He gives the blonde in the hospital bed time to process that. Mello's eyes close, and he exhales through his nose, though it sounds as if that may have been a bit of a struggle. When his eyes open again a few moments later, they're clear and calm, as if he's already accepted the fact. "So you're okay with that?" Matt asks, knowing if the situation were reversed he'd be bawling right now. Mello tilts his head a fraction, yes. "Is… is there anything you want me to do? Y'know, before…?" He trails off.

Mello arches an eyebrow as if to ask "Like what?" When Matt doesn't answer, he scowls, though he shakes his head no.

"Okay." And with that the conversation dies and is replaced with more awkward silences. Matt sighs. This is going to be the longest and hardest thing he's ever had to do.

-x-

The second day is harder than the first. The second day is when reality really crashes down on you. Whether you're the one hooked up to all the machines not able to function like before with the threat of dying hanging in front of you, or whether you're the one watching your best friend struggle with reality and essentially watching them wither away, it's hard.

There's so much of a difference that it's scary. Mello could manage little attempts at speech yesterday, slurring horribly but yet managing to convey what he needed to. Today, he's only able to utter indefinite grunts and strange whimpers. He's considerably weaker too; his nods seem to take twice the effort with only half the results.

What's scarier still is the fear in Mello's eyes. That's what has Matt the most anxious. Never before has he seen that look in his friend's eyes, the shadow of doubt, the uncertainty, the outright fear. Unshed tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. Mello doesn't cry. Ever. It's just simply not done. So seeing those tears, that weakness so out of place on the completely strong and invincible and badass blonde… it's horrid. It's a side of Mello that Matt never wanted to see.

The worst part is how he reacts to Matt being gone. If Matt leaves the room at all, to smoke, to grab a bite to eat, anything, Mello freaks out. He flails, or tries to, calls out for Matt, or tries to, and will not settle down until the redhead enters the room again. And as soon as Matt's butt is reacquainted with the chair at his bedside, Mello attempts to reach over to touch him, to hold his hand. Mello was never a touchy-feely person, neither is Matt, so this sudden dependence on contact is both foreign and completely unexpected, leaving Matt on edge but with nothing he can do about it.

There's still a light in his eyes though, a fighting spirit that gives Matt hope that Mello isn't totally gone. If he's willing to fight whatever's wrong, then it can't be that bad.

The doctor came in earlier today with another man, this one without the lab coat, and introduced him as Mello's cardiologist. The newcomer, a Doctor Lemon (and Matt understood the irony of his name- he was a man of short stature with a very scrunched up face), explained that Mello had not only suffered a stroke, but also a heart attack.

They explained they'll run a few more tests tomorrow, and hopefully be able to come back again with some better news, but both the blonde and the redhead doubt things will suddenly start working in their favor.

"Well, Mello… you're fucked, dude." Matt says, feeling his lips twist into what is supposed to be a smile. "A stroke in the most vital parts of your brain for living, a heart attack, and you're paralyzed. Oh, and you can't get any more of your chocolate addiction because you can't swallow."

"Well, things are absolutely _fantastic_, huh?" Matt reads in Mello's eyes.

"Yeah, you're messed up. You sickly," he teases, and is rewarded when Mello smiles that crooked, droopy smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes though. "Here's to the Fates…" Matt continues, throwing back the last few swallows of his water bottle, "May those bitches stay the hell out of our lives."

-x-

Day three of minimal sleep, crappy hospital food, and nicotine withdrawal .Three days of watching Mello deteriorate…He doesn't even make the effort to speak today, nor does he attempt to get Matt to hold his hand. He doesn't even open his eyes today, just lies there with the odd cough disrupting his already difficult breathing. The doctors say it could be the beginnings of pneumonia, but Matt is hoping it's just his lungs attempting to work right.

Mello is hiding, and Matt knows it. He knows that Matt knows how scared he is, and in a futile attempt to appear more macho than he really is he's not letting Matt see him. Matt is trying to step up, be strong for them both, but that never was his strong suit; he's more used to being the one being told it'll be alright. He's always had Mello as his rock, and now having the roles reversed is kicking his ass.

Feeling bitter at Mello's lack of a response to anything, he decides to run a probably cruel experiment in hopes of coaxing out a reaction from the seemingly-comatose blonde. He stands and stretches, looks over at the hospital bed and calls "I'll be back in a few minutes, Mello." Stepping out of the room, he doesn't move besides leaning against the wall by the doorway. Immediately, he sees Mello's hand twitch as if he's trying to move it. A pitiful sound of discontent somehow forces itself out of the blonde's throat, and Matt almost feels bad for leaving him there like that. His morbid curiosity, however, has other plans; keeping him away to see what else he can get out of him.

"Mamph," Mello slurs, and Matt would swear he heard his name in the jumble of sounds. His heart both soars and clenches painfully tight at the attempt. It means Mello would still fight for him, that hope isn't lost yet. With that learned and his sick curiosity sated, he waltzes back into the room, plopping back down into his chair and unthinkingly taking Mello's hand into his own.

"Sorry. I was getting all twitchy. Needed a smoke break," Matt lies easily. As he watches Mello's face for any changes, he sees blue eyes flutter open weakly. A glare is thrown his way, and a voice he recognizes as Mello's whispers in his head, "Oh yeah? Well then where's that God-awful stink that comes along with smoking those freaking cancer sticks of yours?"

For an instant he believes maybe Mello gained some psychic powers while here, because it seems like something so expected and just so _normal_ of the blonde. Then he rubs his face with his hand tiredly, knowing that it's complete bullshit and that he needs more sleep before he believes his crazy wistful thinking. Still though, the voice continues to chew him out in that strange rough whisper. "Seriously. You smoke those things _constantly_. How come I'm the one laying here dying when you risk your health every time you reach in the pocked of that damned vest? Which I hate, by the way. Seriously, Matty? Faux fur on top of stripes? And then those goggles." An image of a cringing Mello shuddering flashes in his mind's eye. "Orange goggles. And people yell at me for my 'excessive leather'. If only they saw you…"

The mini mental rant strikes Matt as hilarious, and before he can stop himself he's laughing, laughing so hard there are tears blurring his vision and he can't seem to get enough oxygen. It doesn't' help that as soon as he laughs, the Mello's voice admonishes him. "Are you laughing at me? Fuckin' really, Matt? Just wait until I get out of here. I swear…" The unfinished threat makes him laugh even harder, until he's quite literally rolling around on the floor clutching his sides in glorious agony. It feels so good to laugh amongst all the serious he's been placed in lately. It feels as if a weight he didn't know he was carrying has just been lifted.

Settling down and sitting hunched over in his chair once more, he glances up to see Mello's eyes fully alert and staring questioningly at him, mockingly asking, "Man, you okay? Do I need to get you a psychiatrist? Straightjacket? Man in a white coat with a huge-ass needle?"

"I'm okay. Just had a really funny thought is all. I heard you ranting at me. And you got so angry at me for laughing while you tried to threaten me." Wiping a few lingering tears from his eyes, he sees an almost-smile on Mello's lips before his eyes droop.

"I'm tired, Matty." He seems to say, head lolling a bit to the side against his pillow.

"I know," Matt tells him, bringing their joined hands up to support Mello's head, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "You'll get better, Mells. If not, I'll have to get my mom's old vacuum and go Ghostbusters on you." He swears he sees Mello's lips twitch into his old trademark smirk before the blonde drifts off.

-x-

Matt felt better than he had in days. He slipped away while Mello was sleeping to grab a shower in the bathroom attached to Mello's room, and to brush his teeth. As he returned to his spot at the blonde's bedside, Dr. Williams walks into the room. The usual light in his eyes is missing, and his lips, always quirked into an easy and friendly smile, are pressed in a thin line. _Oh shit._

"Dr. Williams," Matt greets him as always, a smile and a firm handshake, though his mind is screaming something's wrong.

"Matt," The doctor inclines his head in acknowledgement. No smile. "I'm afraid… I've got some rather troublesome news. Perhaps you should sit, and wake up Mihael. He'll want to hear this."

"Mello…" Matt calls, shaking his friend's shoulder. When there is no reply, he places his hand flat against Mello's chest and applies slight pressure, calling out his name as he'd taken to doing recently. The blonde had been exponentially harder to rouse and get him to focus- any movement seemed a struggle. When Mello finally peels his eyelids back, Matt tells him "Hey, Mells. Dr. Williams is here. He says he has some news."

Matt doesn't mention that it's bad news. He just takes Mello's hand against and glances at the doctor.

Dr. Williams clears his throat uncomfortably before he starts to speak. "Well, Mihael… all your test results are in. And… we have some new that won't be easy to hear. Are you ready?" Matt steals a glance at the blonde to see his eyes hardened and resolved. Matt nods in his place. "You are beginning to develop pneumonia on top of your already troubling conditions. Your body isn't sufficiently able to fight it off, even with medication. Your immune system is shot."

"Great," Matt mutters.

"There's more. That's the good news." There's so much sympathy in the doctor's gaze now, Matt is very afraid. He tightens his hold on Mello's hand before the doctor continues. "Mello… is stable. I know we initially told you seven to ten days, but tests show that there won't be any improvement… ever. Just very, very slow deterioration."

The news slams into Matt. Suddenly, he's fighting back tears, clenching Mello's hand so hard Mello makes an odd attempt at a hiss. Matt immediately relaxes his hold, but doesn't let go. "What does that mean, practically?"

"Well… at this point, he's stable. Meaning as long as we continue to pump him full of medication and feed him, his body will sustain itself, but his brain will slowly die off. He will deteriorate right in front of you; you'll watch him wither away. This could take days, or months. It's up to him when he gives up. The pneumonia will definitely speed up the process."

"Our… his options?" Matt's voice trembles.

"Keep him here and continue doing what we can, and drag this out, or... we can take him off of everything, and let nature take its course."

"Mello?" The blonde is just staring off into space, eyes unfocused and teary. "Mells?" Matt's hand on his chest brings him back, and he blinks slowly up at his redheaded companion. "What would you want done?"

"You have time to make a decision, though the sooner is generally better." The doctor says, preparing to leave. Before he leaves though, he calls over his shoulder. "If I had a family member in that situation… I'd let them go. Give them time to get everything in order and say goodbye, but I wouldn't let them suffer like that." With those words he was gone.

Matt places his head in his hands, tugging lightly at his hair in frustration and grief. Finally he looks up at Mello, who is watching him with agony in his eyes. He knows his death is inevitable, and that it's only a short time away. To have all that weighing down on you… Matt honors how strong Mello must be to take all of that so well.

"Scary stuff, huh?" Matt asks him, fully expecting the "Hell yeah," he saw in Mello's eyes.

". . ." Matt's mind races, trying to think of what Mello would want. "Can you nod for me, Mello?" A small nod yes. "Okay…" Matt takes a deep breath before he asks quietly, "You'd want to go before your mind left you, wouldn't you? You'd want to be able to think when you go. You'd rather your body defies you than your mind."

Mello nods yes.

"So... you want them to take you off everything, don't you?"

Again, Mello nods yes.

Matt remembers back to something, the first day that Mello had been in the hospital, when he could speak. Matt had finally asked how he was, and Mello had managed to get out, "I'm hungry."

"Hey, Mello. You hungry?"

Slowly, Mello shakes his head no.

"You don't want to be fed?"

Yet another slow shake of the head.

"You…" Glancing down at Mello's crucifix still around his neck, Matt clears his throat and asks "Are you ready to go home, Mihael?"

Yes.

Swallowing back tears, Matt nods and turns on his heel to call the doctor back, to hand him Mello's death sentence. He feels sick; he can't believe this is how it has to be. He's never felt rage this potent directed at nothing and everything, felt hopelessness and useless for someone else.

He finds the doctor leaning against the wall opposite Mello's room, a small, bitter smile on his face. "I figured it wouldn't take long. It's easier than tracking me down. What did he decide?"

"He's ready. He wants to be taken off everything and let God take him when He feels it's time." The words felt foreign to him, the thought that a god controls who dies and when, but he knows it's what Mello would've said.

"Okay. I'll get the nurses to start unhooking all those wires and machines right away. We'll feed him tonight at nine, but after that, he'll be on his own. We will leave the oxygen though." Matt nods mutely. "Oh, and Mail… Matt?" Said redhead glances up. "You're very close to him, aren't you? I can see the withdrawal all over you, yet you've not left his room unless he was asleep or it was vital. You're very good for him. I'm very sorry for this… but you've done well by him." The doctor pats his shoulder before walking away, leaving Matt in pieces.

Walking back into the room, he gets Mello's attention again and relays what the doctor told him. Mello sighs and closes his eyes, leaning back into the bed and forcing himself to relax.

"Hey… Mello? How long are you gonna stay around?" _I need you, y'know…_ The last part remains unsaid. Mello doesn't reply.

"It's Saturday… You've at least got to stay the whole weekend." Matt hates how broken his voice sounds.

Mello gives a slight nod. Yes, he'll stay until Monday.

It'll have to be good enough for Matt.

-x-

Mello lied.

Really, that's all Matt can process right now. Or, to be more accurate, all that he'll allow himself to process. He's perfectly aware he's in shock, but he doesn't give a damn. Not about himself. Not now.

Mello is dead.

_Mello's dead. He's gone, Matt. Forever and always. Get that into your head now. He's not going to jump out from behind a door and call you an idiot. You'll never see him again. Never hear him snap at you. No more petty fights, no more witty banter, no more "Turn that shit off! It'll rot your brain, Matt." No more "God, you smell like an ashtray. Have fun coating your lungs in tar?"_

_Nothing._

It had been so peaceful, so non-dramatic, Matt wasn't sure it had really happened at first. A couple coughs, that was it. A couple coughs, and what started out as a sneeze. But instead of the "Achoo" Matt expected, all he got was a quiet sigh. Then…

Nothing.

As it finally sinks in, Matt breaks down into hysterics: He can't breathe, he can't understand those around him. All he understands is _I've lost Mello_ and that he needs to cry. And the last moment before he'd passed… Mello had gestured Matt closer, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and forced and slurred out "Thank you, Matty… I love you." Then Matt leaned back, Mello coughed, and it was over.

The hysterics increase, and Matt's vaguely aware of a needle in the crook of his arm before it all went fuzzy, then black.

-x-

Gasping, Matt bolts upright in bed, fumbling blindly for the damned switch on his lamp. Finding it, he looks down besides himself, and is only met with the cream color of his sheets. No Mello.

"Damn it, Matt, get a grip. That was months ago." He looks down at his wrist, at the delicate writing encircling it as well as the tiny pictures preventing it from looping. _November 4, 2012 12:05 PM. _ A pistol lying partially atop an unwrapped chocolate bar separates the date and time, while Mello's bike separates time and date.

Laying back down, he rolls to the opposite side of the bed, cuddling a pillow to his chest that long ago lost the scent of its original user.

"It's cold, Mello," Matt mumbles, talking to the air like he'd done with Mello in the hospital. "I wish you were still here…"

Tearing up again, Matt wills the images of his lost best friend away. After all, moving on is all he can do now. At least, until he joins Mello… home.

-x-

**A/N: Well? Hate me yet? Yes? No? Don't give a fuck? I like those of in the third column best. Just sayin'. **

**Ahem. Anyway. You know the drill: review, favorite, whatever you wanna do. Just remember: Flames will be magickally turned around to bite you in the ass. Later, yo.**


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